Unspoken
by Sacred Dust
Summary: Would he ever notice me? What would Sandi think? Would he ever be interested in a girl who can barely talk, isn't into sports, and who everyone thinks is the biggest airhead in Lawndale? (Tiffany/Evan, oneshot)


Ranger, you suggested both Tiffany/Evan and Tiffany/Sandi. I'm doing the first one for now, but I may write the second one too. This story will be different from the others, more one-sided. It's partly inspired by Komotose's 'After the Disaster & the Five Stages of Grief', one of the most unique and thought-provoking portrayals of Tiffany I have read.

Unspoken (for 45Ranger)

I just like to watch him.  
I like watching him run in track. I like watching him eat lunch in the cafeteria. Most of all, I like watching him talk.  
It's so easy for him. The words leave his mouth so smoothly, so naturally. Not like mine at all.  
I hate speaking. I hate the sound of my own voice. It's never right. I try so hard, but it's like there's a big empty space between my brain and my mouth, and my ideas get lost in it. Nothing that I really want to say ever gets out, and after a while I stopped trying. When I'm relaxed and talking about fashion, it's a little easier. But not much.  
He walks out of Gym class as I'm on my way to Science, and he looks so confident. Like he could take on the world. His hair is brown with long bangs hanging over small blue eyes. He's talking to another girl-someone from the track team, of course. His voice is so nice that I could listen to him forever.  
Will he ever talk to me? Will I be able to say anything back?  
"There you are, Tiffany."  
I turn around. It's Sandi, one of my best friends. She also has a nice voice. She doesn't say a lot of nice things with it, but at least she doesn't make fun of me. Neither do Quinn and Stacy. Maybe that's the real reason I hang out with them. I mean, I do love clothes and makeup and not being fat, but...  
"Due to one of my obnoxious brothers not warning me about his upcoming birthday party, my house will not be suitable for tonight's Fashion Ca-lub meeting." Sandi says officiously. All those words and syllables...I feel inferior just listening to her. "Therefore, I have told the others that we will be holding it at your house instead."  
Now I have to say something.  
Deep breath. Focus. My throat feels like it's a mile deep. I force out one syllable at a time, hating how stupid it sounds.  
"You forgoooot...your brother's...birthdaaaay?"  
She sighs. "Tiffany dear, my presidential duties leave little room in my memory for insignificant details. Now, is six-o-clock acceptable?"  
That was rude. She didn't ask if she could come in the first place.  
I pull out a compact mirror and look into it. That's all I can do when something is bothering me. I can't talk well enough to argue with her, but I can make her wait.

I daydream through most of the meeting. I do that a lot, and most of the time it's about him.  
"You're supposed to date jocks, not be one," I said, when I first saw him and words came easier. I think my friends and I were complaining about girls in sports.  
He told us off-"I prefer women with a slightly more enlightened attitude toward sports"-and the conversation ended there. At least, it ended for him.  
I'm still trying to think of what to say back.  
Sandi is talking. "Girls, I have been giving this idea a lot of thought. As ambassadors of fashion for the entire school, I feel it is high time we spoke to Principal Li regarding her unacceptable attire."  
"Pantsuuuuuits," I shudder.  
Quinn sounds doubtful. "Um, Sandi, I know you have Ms. Li's best interests in mind, but are you sure it's a good idea?"  
"Gee, Quinn. Are you saying certain people should be above the laws of fashion?"  
Raised eyebrows, outstretched hands. "Of course not, Sandi! What I'm saying is that some people just can't take constructive criticism, and if Ms. Li is one of them it could really do us more harm than good, especially because she gets us so much exposure at school."  
"Hmmm," Sandi frowns and thinks it over. Stacy faithfully scribbles every detail of the conversation in the log.  
I drift back into my thoughts.

I look at my reflection a lot. I guess I think that if I do it enough, I'll figure out what went wrong. What it was that broke in me a few years ago.  
Things were different before. I could talk to my friends in middle school. I could welcome the guests to my bat mitzvah. I could even talk here for a little while, until that night. They kept it very quiet. I think a lot of the other students don't even know.  
I guess I don't want them to know. It was...not fashionable.  
Two guys are talking as they walk past the bathrooms.  
"...can't believe you dumped her, man. That chick was so hot!"  
"I guess. But she talked my ear off, you know? I got sick of it."  
I freeze. The second voice is Evan's!  
I walk out of the bathroom and there he is, disappearing down the hall with one of the football players. I follow him without making it obvious. It's not hard. Most people don't notice me when I'm not with the Club.  
"Your loss, man. I bet she's a screamer." the jock chuckles. Ewww.  
"Well, why don't you go out with her then?" Evan jokes.  
My next class is one floor up and at the other end of the building. If I don't leave now, I'll be late. But I'm kind of hypnotized. He always does that to me.  
And I just found out that he's single...  
Would he ever notice me? What would Sandi think? Would he ever be interested in a girl can barely talk, isn't into sports, and who everyone thinks is the biggest airhead in Lawndale?  
I watch him disappear into the classroom, and my heart follows.

Later, alone in my room, I try to say it. I try to say it like a normal person, but my mouth fights me every step of the way.  
"IIIII..." I have to stop for breath. I wish I had bigger lungs. But would they make me look fat? "IIII...loooooooove you." It sounds terrible. "I looooooove...yooooou." Worse. "IIIIIIIII..."  
I try and try, but it doesn't get better. Those are the only words I really want to say anymore, and I still can't handle them.  
I choke back a sob and pound a fist on the desk. After I shake the pain out of my hand, I give up and retreat back to the mirror.  
My mascara is running from the tears. I get my makeup out and fix it, so no one will see.


End file.
